


possible

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2019 [15]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), The Hour (TV)
Genre: 00Q pre-slash, Bi Moneypenny, Bond & Moneypenny Friendship, Bond POV, Bond25 Wishfulfillment, Eve Moneypenny Ships James Bond/Q, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Freddie Lyon is a girl, It's just a bit of fun, M/M, Post-SPECTRE, There's a wedding, because why the hell not, how did I manage to fit it all it?, maybe I just am that talented, nah guys, there's a lot of stuff, there's returns from self-imposed exile, there's shooting, well maybe I was born with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: Sometimes you need a friend to pick you up, sometimes you need them to pull you up from that trellis through the window and tend to your wounds, sometimes you need them to tell you to stop being a dip-shit. Everyone needs and deserves a friend like Moneypenny, James Bond most of all.She hugged him close to her even though she was wearing a pair of pyjamas that still smelled of fabric softener, and he was damp and grimy from his dip in the river and bleeding besides, and couldn’t be nice to smell at all.Bond let his palms rest on Eve’s back, dug his forehead into her shoulder and breathed in the scent of Moneypenny and lavender.“You are such a fucking moron!” she said, her voice muffled against his sweatshirt.





	possible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Castillon02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castillon02/gifts).



> Collab Prompt Table fill: for cas, who requested a fic with Bond and Moneypenny as BFFs  
> Hope you like this, Cas :) 
> 
> Also filling the anon prompt: Bond25 Wishfulfillment!: write a scene (or 20 :D ) you wish would happen in the (hopefully) upcoming movie; it doesn't have to be realistic, ship-wise or otherwise, just don't forget to dream big
> 
> [My Moneypenny headcanon](https://christinefromsherwood.tumblr.com/tagged/moneypenny%20monday) gets referred to in this. So maybe give it a read, otherwise one or two lines won't make much sense.

Feeling like death warmed over, Bond dragged himself up the trellis on the side of the house, distantly recognizing that he was leaving a trail of blood on the ivy leaves as he did so.

And pushing dirt into his wounds at the same time.

No matter. Hopefully there was hydrogen peroxide and a warm bath waiting for him in the near future, and if falling into the Thames two days ago hadn’t killed him with blood-poisoning yet, nothing would.

The opening of the window above him was a sudden explosion of sound.

Bond narrowed his eyes and blinked against the blinding light of a small LED torch, near which he guessed at the shape of a gun barrel.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Bond,” groaned out a sleep-heavy voice a second later, and the light disappeared, leaving bright spots in its wake. “Are you actually allergic to door-bells?”

Bond flexed his fingers against a scratchy bit of an ivy branch. His mind swam and whirled from blood-loss and drugs and he pressed himself closer to the trellis.

His mind was decidedly not at its best, but still he could admit that Moneypenny might have a point there.

“I didn’t want to wake your boyfriend,” he got out, proud of himself for slurring the words only a little.

“You sound funny. Why do you sound funny?” Then strong arms were grabbing him and pulling him upwards.

Bond had only just enough presence of mind to help by swiftly finding new holds for his feet and hands.

Finally he was through the window (the kitchen window, he had remembered correctly!) and in Moneypenny’s arms.

She hugged him close to her even though she was wearing a pair of pyjamas that still smelled of fabric softener, and he was damp and grimy from his dip in the river and bleeding besides, and couldn’t be nice to smell at all.

Bond let his hands rest on Eve’s back, dug his forehead into her shoulder and breathed in the scent of Moneypenny and lavender.

“You are such a fucking moron!” she said, her voice muffled against his sweatshirt.

“Sorry,” he got out.

“You didn’t even come say goodbye!”

“I’m sorry.”

“I had to find out from Q’s bloody falsified requisition form! … _The undersigned, James Bond, code name 007, asks for an express workflow on the requisition of DB Aston Martin blah-blah for ensuring the safety of a prime MI6 asset, as per §15.2eef) of the SIS Directives and Regulations…_ You’ve never even touched the bloody rulebook!”

“I’m sorry. I had to.”

“I know.” And she hugged him tighter, and didn’t ask him any of the questions she was bound to eventually ask him, and didn’t let go even when a sleepy figure staggered into the kitchen.

“It’s fine, Freddie, go back to sleep,” she said instead. And the unfamiliar woman peered at the both of them through narrowed eyes, gave a short nod and then shuffled back into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry. I’ve missed a lot.”

“Yeah, you did. And stop bloody apologizing, git!”

“The boyfriend…”

“Ran for the hills when he saw me on the news footage at Vauxhall Cross. The Riverside building blowing up again wasn’t something we could hush up with all those smart phones around.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“What did I say about apologizing?!”

Finally she let go of him and stepped away.

“Christ, the look of you, James!” Moneypenny huffed out, and pushed him towards the bathroom. “Shower. You know where the first aid kit is. I’m going to go grab us both some new clothes.”

As she turned around and began to walk away, Bond finally let himself relax.

It would be alright. He was home.

* * *

“So, who’s Freddie?” he asked, seated atop the dresser once he had taken a sip of the McCallan he knew he’d find in the first aid kit. It helped clear his mind of those drugs they’d pumped him with.

Moneypenny paused in her assessment of the stab wound on his stomach.

 _Just a flesh wound_ , Bond would say if he felt she was in any mood for pop culture references.

“Are you really going to grill me about my love life right now?” She gave him a disbelieving stare. Bond shrugged.

“I’ve missed a lot,” he echoed his previous statement. By the way Moneypenny’s eyes softened he knew he’d said the right thing.

“Honestly,” she huffed, shaking her head fondly. “You’re worse than Michael, I hope you know. And Q at least asked for my permission before he cyber-stalked her.”

“I wasn’t going to-“ She flicked him in the biceps, and Bond stopped protesting.

The truth was, he _had_ been planning to do just that. A sting of the antiseptic on his wound reminded him why that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Fredericka 'Freddie' Lyon. An investigative journalist. 28. Likes terrible spy novels, lost causes and interior decorating.”

Moneypenny stopped in her ministrations, and looked him full in the eyes, almost daring him to say something with her cotton swab full of the stinging torture liquid raised in a vaguely threatening manner.

“And that’s all you get, James,” she said sharply, before her eyes softened again. “If you want to know more… Well, you’ll bloody well need to stick around and talk to her this time.”

Still she didn’t resume her work, instead stared at him expectantly.

Bond consciously decided to pass over the glaringly blinking neon sign of “INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST”.

He had been gone, and Moneypenny knew what she was doing.

Certainly she knew much better than him.

“I was thinking that the yellow lamp was new and much better than your usual taste,” he said finally and enjoyed watching Moneypenny’s curls bounce as she shook her head at him.

Christ, he had missed her!

* * *

“9 o’clock, James!” Moneypenny shouted over the hail of bullets. Bond noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye, pointed his gun and shot without looking. The maniac with the spinning swords in front of him seemed more important to focus his attention on at the moment.

“Tango down,” Q confirmed in his ear.

“Ta, Q,” Bond answered as he began to inch his way forward.

A blade swooshed right in front of his face; Bond jumped back.

“A propos of tango, Quartermaster, what say you to the two of us going dancing once this is all over?” he added and hoped he didn’t sound too out of breath.

There followed a long pause of stunned silence on the coms.

Moneypenny nudged him with her hip and in a synchronized movement they exchanged places and opponents.

From the corner of his eye, Bond caught a glimpse of Moneypenny raising her eyebrows at him and shaking her head.

Left eyebrow, half-an-inch: _You are such a fucking moron, James._ Right-eyebrow, slight uptick near the bridge of the nose: _Are we doing this, or not?_

The swordsman seemed to falter at the sight of Moneypenny’s toned thighs in those cargo shorts. Bond didn’t blame him; they had fantastic pockets.

The red-haired woman in front of Bond gave him a wide smile, calculated to chill a man’s bone marrow, and inched her hand towards the gun holsters on her thighs. There was something vaguely familiar about her and the bracelets on her wrists, about both of the enemy agents in fact, though Bond quite couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

“What do you say, Q, I know of a nice little place on-“ Bond began, but was interrupted.

“By _once this is all over_ do you in fact mean _once we manage to rescue my girlfriend from an evil criminal mastermind_?” Q’s sharp voice rang too loud in his ear and Bond winced.

“Madeleine and I broke up quite amicably months ago, Q, I know I’ve told you be-“

“Focus on the mission at hand, 007, you are on very thin ice as it-!”

“Pardon?” came in the cultured voice of Nomi with just enough ice in it to make Bond cringe in sympathy at the blush he knew Q must be sporting in mission control.

“My apologies, 007, you know how it is with old habits,” Q spoke haltingly, flustered. “Especially the infuriating ones. Like Bond.”

Bond was just about to protest when a sharp unusual movement of the hands of the female enemy agent reminded him exactly where he had seen her before.

Alec was an excellent storyteller and knew exactly how to paint a picture with his words. Especially when he spoke of his time undercover in the KGB.

“Oh shit,” was all Bond managed to say before he started to scream as a blast of strong electrical current hit him in the stomach.

* * *

“…so you do understand, James, why you are an absolute git and an utter fool that people want to strangle on a daily basis, don’t you?” So spoke the dulcet tones of his Quartermaster.

Bond lay still and quiet, doing all he could to suppress the twitch in his eyelids and fingers which were telling him to open his eyes and reach for Q.

The one minute since he had been awake had proved most educational.

Sure, he got called names like “a senseless idiot with the common sense and self-preservation of a suicidal frog,” but Q’s fingertips also sometimes fluttered close to his left wrist to check for heartbeat, so Bond knew he didn’t mean the insults and death threats all that seriously.

“You know,” Q continued in a tone that would be light and conversational, if he didn’t have to pause to suppress a sniffle. The restlessness in Bond’s hands got stronger. “You know, I didn’t think you were coming back. Moneypants told me you would, and Alec said that you wouldn’t just steal the bloody car, but I really didn’t think you were coming back.”

Aw, shite. That was another sniffle.

Bond began to feel distinctly like a tool for pretending to be unconscious, but surely it wouldn’t do any good if he were to “wake up” now?!

“I’m sure M didn’t believe me about the requisition form by the way. But he let it slide. He really is a good boss… And he’s absolutely furious at those bloody SHIELD people for trying to go behind our back on our own turf. Wankers, all of them. Yes, your Dr. Swann, too! She should have at least made an effort to contact us and let us know that she had found herself a new employment. That's not asking for a lot, is it, just some a common fucking decency! What a waste of resources!”

Bond had never heard Q curse that much before. It was, frankly, adorable.

Again, he felt the icy cold touch on his wrist.

Christ, but Q’s hands were cold!

It took everything in Bond not to grasp them in his to warm them up.

“Q, would you be a dear and get me a glass of water from the water fountain in the lobby?” Moneypenny’s voice broke Bond’s delirious musings.

“Oh, of course, shit, I’m so sorry, I’ve been hogging-“

“You’re fine, Q, honest. There’s just something I want to say to James here, and…”

“Er, right, yes, of course, I understand…” Q’s voice got quieter and eventually trailed off completely as he hurried out of what Bond assumed was a room in Medical.

He made to open his eyes.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Moneypenny’s voice interrupted him. “You’ll continue to lie there and go on with your shamming until Q comes back, you great big idiot. And then you’ll wake up, and there will be no snide comments or hints. Nah-huh, shush, I know you, you can’t help yourself, James. And then, when you can walk without looking like a seventy-year-old granny who’s eaten a bucket-full of bad oysters, you will buy him a bunch of daisies and a box of Assam from Ghograjan.“

Bond felt he had to be allowed a small vocalization of curiosity at that. 

“Oh you want to know why? Well, Alec and Tanner and M and I all believe you’re fucking perfect for one another. _Moreover_ , Freddie and I need you to get over your shit. You see, we refuse to deal with any maid-of-honour drama at our wedding, God knows the florist is enough of a nightmare to deal with. Yes, you are both attending officially as my maids-of-honour. No, it is not emasculating, shut your mouth, Bond. Ah yes, so glad you asked, Q can wear whatever he wants, but you, James, you are coming in a kilt. And if you let yourself be electrocuted by an ex-KGB assassin because you’re dicking around on coms again before the wedding, I am making you wear that big white cravat with ruffles. No, don’t pretend. You know I know you have one.”

A scuffing sound at the door announced Q’s return.

“So glad we had this talk,” Moneypenny said in a whisper, and then added even quieter: “You know, you do deserve to be happy, James.”

Bond's mind was reeling, and not just because of all the drugs that had to be coursing in his system.

“Oh thank you, Q!” Moneypenny greeted Bond’s future co-maid-of-honour. “I really think he’ll wake up any minute now.”

“Really?” Q’s voice rang with quiet delight; a mixture of pleasure, hopefulness and longing, all of it undisguised.

Bond had never felt more awake, or alive for that matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Why is there a Hawkeye and Black Widow cameo in this, you ask? 
> 
> Well, it could be that I couldn't be arsed to think up proper villain plot. 
> 
> It might also be because I read [azure's fic ](https://azure7539arts.tumblr.com/post/186123147914/just-another-crossover-a-narration-by-q)where she allowed the Revengers and our MI6 boys to meet among many bullets and debris and liked it. 
> 
> It might also be because it just sort of happened as I was writing this fic...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this, folks. And you do know that you can always look me up on [Tumblr](https://christinefromsherwood.tumblr.com/about), don't you?


End file.
